


The Dark Warden

by Drakojana



Series: Good Endings Are Overrated [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, jacksepticeye - Fandom, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: And by that I MEAN IT, Basically everything wrong you can imagine, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Traumatic Bonding, Violence, and dark is a psychopatic fuck, anti doesn't actually appear in here, developing stockholm syndrome, graphic description of a lot of fuckin things, guys run while you still can, prison!au because i'm a sucker for those, what hellhole did this one crawl out of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-04 09:05:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10273226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drakojana/pseuds/Drakojana
Summary: The first time he was dragged down the hallway.The second time he was conscious as long as he didn't thrash around.The third time he was running away;And the fourth time he was carried in his arms.[Dark/Jack Prison!AU][At least look at the tags before reading the work!]





	1. Don't want to fall asleep anymore

His head was killing him. It hurt like someone had just hit him with a sledgehammer. Or as if an avalanche of bricks had fallen on him. Jack groaned, slowly getting the grasp on his other senses. For now, he could only feel. And there was a lot of new information from that sensation alone. When the pain made some space in his mind for actual thoughts, the Irishman noticed he was lying on the floor - his cheek was stinging from being pressed against the cold tiles for so long. His hands were numb, both trapped under his own body weight. The legs were also nearly immobile - stiff and aching all over like he'd just ran a marathon.

Another involuntary pained noise escaped his lips and now it was time for him to focus on the sound around him. The static ringing in his ears gave way to various voices, mostly male, speaking in different tones. Some yelling, some whispering, some talking casually. Their voices were tainted with either frustration, anger or fear. There was no happiness or hope in any of them. His body shuddered, maybe from the cold or maybe from the realisation that the new environment wasn't friendly. Among the shouts and conversations, Jack heard drips of water. The drops hitting against porcelain bowl just to slide down the drain - without a doubt, it was a regular leaking sink.

The green-haired man shuffled to at least lie on his back. He wanted to get the circulation back in the right part of his body which was numb from the pressure and cold. Moving even the smallest muscles proved to be quite a difficult task, but once he gathered the strength in his arms to push himself in one direction, the momentum took care of the rest. He was so drained of all energy that even landing on his back knocked the breath out of his lungs. Jack took a few deep breaths, wincing with each one before he decided to open his eyes.

He was expecting a flash of light, a bright light bulb directed at his face, blinding whiteness that would burn his eyes. But nothing like that happened. To his surprise, the place was rather dark. The only source of light was a small window on the wall he'd been lying next to. The Irishman took his time observing the new surroundings. The room was rather big and empty. As he suspected, there was a broken sink under the window - though the colour of the liquid in the tap made him reconsider calling it "water". There was also a worn-out wooden chair. One of its legs looked burnt, and Jack figured that it would lose its balance were he to sit in it. Other than that, there was no more furniture in the room.

Or the cell, as he realised that instead of a wall on the opposite side of it there were thick metal bars. Behind them the green-haired man could faintly see a corridor and more cells - he thought that the noise must've been coming out from other inmates. The only thing in the whole hallway that was worth noting was an old lamp that kept flickering and emitted bleak yellow light.

Jack sat up, hissing at the pain coursing through his veins. He couldn't remember anything - why he was aching all over, where he was or how he got there. The last thing he remembered was being in his own apartment all by himself, playing some video games in his spare time.

Something caught his attention - a shadowy figure walked past his cell, disappearing from his sight as soon as it came into it. The Irishman wanted answers. He was weak and had to crawl towards the bars, but he sure as hell wasn't going to be kept in a damn prison like a criminal. With each movement, his left knee stung and Jack was worried it may have been dislocated because the whole leg felt limp all the time. Yet that had to wait because some information was more important at the moment. It wasn't like he could get medical help anyway.

He had to lean against the metal bars when he got up, the legs wobbly under him. As he suspected, there were more cells down the corridor. All of them filled with prisoners, some looking like they could kill a man with confidence beaming from them, others cowering in fear scared for their lives. The green-haired man had never been in a prison before, but by the looks on their faces, he figured they could be criminals. But he wasn't one for sure.

At the very end of the hallway, Jack saw a figure. They were currently standing with their back turned to him, and he thought it was probably the person he'd seen just a moment ago. Since he had nobody else to let his frustration out on, and they were the only one not in a prison cell, he yelled without hesitation.

"Hey, you fucker! Yeah, I'm talking to you!"

His throat nearly gave out without a proper warm-up. Jack broke into a coughing fit, gripping the bars tightly as he tried to catch a breath again. When he looked up, he realised everyone in the prison went silent. Some of the inmates approached their own cell exits and looked out in the corridor. Jack swallowed nervously, feeling all the eyes fix on him. He only meant to catch the attention of one person and ended up being stared at by nearly everyone.

Sure enough, he succeeded in his goal anyway, because the figure turned around and the second the Irishman saw their face he regretted ever speaking up.

He had noticed the person was well-built before but now that he could see them fully he realised just how dreadful they looked like. The man wasn't too tall, around Jack's height, but he was wearing a sleeveless shirt, so his muscled arms were visible. His skin had an unusual dark tone - in the dim light of the prison it looked nearly grey. He was wearing something that could look like a black uniform, except that the sleeves were ripped off and the trousers were a bit damaged, probably from being worn for too long.

The most unusual features were on his face, though. His hair was raven black, a shade so dark the green-haired man wondered if it could even be natural; it seemed not to reflect the light, even. It was an unkempt fluffy mess, but in that setting, it looked more like puffed up fur of a predatory animal than that of a harmless one.

What made Jack hold his breath, though, were the person's eyes - they were the most inhuman thing he had ever seen. They glowed red like flares, and the moment the man looked at the prisoner, his stare screamed of danger and fury. With every step, he covered the distance of at least three meters, so Jack merely blinked and he was already by his cell. The green-haired man wanted to back away from the bars, but the red-eyed man had unnatural reflexes - in a second his hand found its way to Jack's neck, gripping it tightly.

The man's gaze burned holes into Jack's head, he could feel it. Looking at those eyes felt more like staring into the burning fire of a furnace, but the Irishman had a feeling he'd be thrown right into the flames. The black-haired man narrowed his eyes, studying Jack's face for a while, and the green-haired man swallowed nervously. For a moment he could swear those eyes weren't real anymore, and they were replaced with bright hot embers that would consume his soul.

The man opened his mouth to speak, but before any word left his mouth he slammed Jack into the cold metal poles with enough force to knock him out. With the remains of his consciousness, the Irishman could only feel a dribble of blood come from his now broken nose and registered a voice speaking to him.

"Speak to me like that again, and you'll be changing cells sooner than you'd like it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been trying to post it for 2 days but AO3 keeps freezing on me so imagine my frustration typing this note for god-knows-which time  
> Anyways, leave a comment, it's always appreciated!


	2. Tired of the night trips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding a friend in a rough situation can be comforting.  
> But some places aren't right for friendships.

_Jack felt someone gently embrace him from behind, pulling him towards their heat. The gesture felt so nice, and he was melting in the touch. The person placed him in their lap, their arms folding around his stomach. He felt so good, so relaxed… before realizing that he didn't have his shirt on. The Irishman's bare back was pressed against another body, its heat forever inviting. He knew something was off, but the panic that rose within him was gone as soon as it appeared, pushed aside by the pleasure of the moment. The person behind him started to gently stroke his hand with their thumb, at the same time humming into his ear._

_"Good boy… You always behave so well for me…" Jack couldn't recognise the voice. It sounded familiar as it whispered praises that sent pleasant shivers down his spine. He would normally speak up, ask, but the sensations were taking away his ability to talk. A low, guttural sound escaped the stranger’s throat and they placed their head on his shoulder. Now the green-haired man could feel breath on his neck. His head refused to turn around, so he still couldn't see whoever it was._

_"Do you want a reward?" the person's voice got even lower before they kissed his neck. Jack shuddered, his heart beating faster. For a moment he thought that it was wrong, but only a moment. It seemed that the mind controlling his body wasn't his own. The other's hold on him softened, only for one of the hands to travel down his stomach and get close to his crotch. Again, the Irishman felt uneasy, but couldn't act. The thoughts were being constantly pushed aside, foreign ones telling him to just enjoy the moment. A needy whine left his lips after a second._

_"I know, I know, you're trapped. But darling, it's all for you…" the person spoke in a slightly patronising, slightly apologetic tone. They kissed his neck again before biting into the skin. Jack should've yelped out in pain, cried out in surprise, but instead all he did was gasp in anticipation. "Let me… make it up for you…"_

_It was the last sentence he heard before it all went black._

* * *

When Jack came to again, his back hurt like hell. As he moved his arm, he was sure his shoulder blades were injured, because they stung when the fabric of the shirt rubbed against them. He let out a long groan, trying to recall what had happened. The first thing he thought about was that weird dream, but the memory of it was already slipping away.

"Oh, shit…" he murmured, realising he was still in the cell. Then it came to him - he had been imprisoned, and after he yelled at someone he got beaten up. Badly. The green-haired man carefully reached towards his nose, hoping it wouldn't be broken. To his surprise, he had a band-aid plastered on the bridge.

He got up, but his legs were still sore, and he fell over almost instantly. A string of curses left his mouth when he hit the floor once again. Then, he heard some whispers.

"Hey, hey!" the voice was coming out from the back of the cell. The Irishman crawled to the source of the sound, thinking it must've been outside.

"Over here!" the whisper got louder, and then Jack realised that whoever was speaking was sitting behind the wall on his right; something was scraping on the corrupt bricks. The green-haired man seated himself by the wall, looking for a hole in them.

"I saw you get dragged here," the person on the other side sounded like a man. Jack couldn't see him but figured he was a prisoner as well. "I'm Felix, by the way."

"I'm… I'm Jack," he replied hesitantly.

"Oh good, you can speak. Not everyone here is willing to talk. You can probably see why," the man chuckled and the Irishman wondered where that friendliness came from.

"You said you saw me get… dragged?" he asked, curious but also disturbed.

"Yeah, after you yelled at the Warden," a cough disrupted Felix's sentence and he mumbled a quick apology afterwards. "Man, it must've hurt, he dragged you down the whole hallway. Twice!"

"The… Warden?" Jack questioned. It made sense that the people here would start to call him something, but that kind of name just implied it was a prison.

"That's what we call him. Nobody knows his real name anyway," Felix's answer was more of a murmur.

"Where did he take me?" the green-haired man kept asking question after question.

"Dunno," the reply was quick. "Were you out the whole time?" He sounded surprised.

"The last thing I can remember is being slammed against the bars…" Jack muttered. “Where the hell even are we? Why is everyone locked up?"

Felix took a deep breath before answering that one. "Buddy, I'm as clueless as you are. Basically, everyone here has a different story, so don't even bother to ask others. It's not like they will tell you anyway."

"And I suppose that Warden won't tell us either?"

The other man went silent for a good whole minute after Jack's question.

"Jack, listen… I… uh… Nobody talks to him. It's kind of an unspoken rule here. You just… don't do that."

"Why not?" the green-haired man cocked his head. "I mean, I did get knocked out and shit, but I guess I deserved that for yelling at him."

"We just know not to speak up unless spoken to. I've only heard rumours, but anyone who talked to the Warden would simply disappear the next day…"

"What?!" Jack shrieked. "I don't want to die!"

"Calm down, nobody said anything about dying," although Felix tried to reassure Jack, the tremor in his voice indicated that he didn't believe his own words either. Silence fell between them again before the other man spoke up. "Oh, by the way, can you check your wrists?"

"My wrists?" the Irishman cocked an eyebrow but did as told. As he looked down at them, he realised he had something tattooed on the left one. It was a weird symbol that resembled an upside-down capital letter "A".

"What the hell is that?" he was about to ask Felix, surprised he hadn't noticed it earlier, but then he heard more voices from behind the wall.

"Who are you talking to?"

"Do you have a death wish, or what?!"

"Whoops, I gotta go-!" the other man's voice got louder, a hint of panic appearing in it. The next thing Jack heard was a loud thud that made him wince. The noises that came from the other side suggested that some other prisoners had dragged Felix off.

The green-haired man shuddered, hoping that his new friend would be okay. In the meantime, he supposed he could study the mysterious tattoo. When he traced the outline, he hissed with pain. It was definitely fresh, the skin hidden under the ink still red and stinging. It was pure black, not reflecting light, and it reminded Jack of the Warden's raven hair. Thinking about the man only fueled his curiosity. He was well aware of Felix's warnings, but he'd already talked back to the red-eyed man. He supposed he had nothing to lose.

The Irishman propped himself up on the wall and walked along it to the cell bars. It wasn't hard to find the Warden; he was the only person in the hallway. Jack didn't even have to call out to him to get his attention - the black-haired man seemed to be watching his cell the whole time. Their eyes locked and seeing those fiery red orbs sent a shiver down the green-haired man's spine. Nonetheless, Jack decided to risk it. He took a shallow breath and spoke up.

"Why am I here?"

And again, in the blink of an eye, the Warden was right next to him. Before replying to the question, the man caught Jack's left wrist in a strong hold. The sudden touch burnt as the fingers dug into the tattoo and the Irishman couldn't stop the pained cry that left his throat. After what seemed like an agonized eternity, the red-eyed man spoke up in his deep, rough voice.

"What did I say about talking to me?" he snarled, clearly displeased with the prisoner's misbehaviour.

Jack thought he was already done for, so he stupidly decided to push his luck even further.

"Tell me and I'll be quiet if you want."

"… Wrong answer."

The green-haired man wasn't given any time to process what he'd just heard. Before he could even protest, the cell door was swung open and the Warden yanked him by the wrist, dragging him out to the hallway. Jack wanted to protest, to fight back, but his exhausted body was no match for the other’s strength. No amount of thrashing around could help him, and soon his legs just gave out under him, unable to keep up with the fast pace. The Warden didn't even bat an eye, the steel grip on the Irishman's wrist unmoving as he dragged him on the floor.

Jack's pleas and cries of pain fell on deaf ears, though he saw a man in one of the cells look at him with pity. His cell was right next to that one, so the green-haired man figured it must've been Felix. The man had bright, nearly white hair, dishevelled and dirty from being imprisoned for so long. His ocean blue eyes were a lot like Jack's own, except that they looked dull, the light gone from them.

Somehow their exchange of looks didn't slip past the Warden. He whipped around, glaring at Jack as he grabbed the Irishman's shirt with his free hand and lifted him into the air with ease.

"Got yourself a friend, did you?" he seethed, eyes glowing with anger and some other unreadable emotion. This time Jack didn't even dare to speak up, already terrified that he might've sentenced both himself and Felix to death. Without any time to think, let alone react, he was slammed back onto the ground. The only thing he could do was shield his face, unable to even curl up into a defensive position. In the next moment a heavy boot landed on his arms and somewhere he heard a scream. After the next stomp, he heard a sharp crack, and the pain increased drastically. The third one knocked him out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is where the shit actually begins. I've updated the tags, so you may want to take a second look at them. So you know what you're getting yourselves into.
> 
> Big thanks to Rottenka, who agreed to be my beta.


	3. Had that dream again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being different from others isn't necessarily bad.  
> Yet sometimes you wish you weren't so special.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more tags because the intro may be slightly disturbing to someone and it's just getting worse from now on.

_The first thing that Jack could feel was the unusual taste on his tongue. It wasn't unfamiliar, no. He'd tasted it before whenever he'd bite down on his lip, or when he’d get cuts and lick the wound. That sweet, coppery taste of blood was filling his mouth. But...something was off. It tasted a bit differently from what he was used to. The Irishman opened his eyes, and let his eyes adjust to the warm yellow light. He'd seen the room before - it must've been another dream._

_Immediately, there was only one thing in the room that Jack could focus on. Right in the middle of it, a body lay on the floor. The person was long gone, their empty eyes staring at the ceiling, and their mouth slightly parted. Perhaps...from screaming before their death. However, the green-haired man didn’t bother to check further. He could tell the life had left the body already because of much more obvious reason._

_There was a huge cut in the person's torso, starting from the middle of the ribcage and going all the way down, tearing the abdomen apart. The amount of blood that pooled under the body was enough to paint the whole floor red and sticky. Intestines were pulled out from their stomach. Guts sprawled on cold, pale skin. The way they were twisted and ruptured, spilling everywhere, could only suggest the that the killer had played with them._

_And Jack was kneeling among all of the blood and viscera, his own hands sunk inside of the person's stomach. He was covered in the blood that wasn't his, arms wet and dripping. And again, just like the other time, his own body acted on its own, not caring about the sight in front of him. It was so hard to think rationally, so much easier to give into pure emotion. It would’ve terrified him if the Irishman truly had any control over what was happening; yet against all odds, he felt that he was enjoying the moment._

_He was reminded of his throat when he tried to swallow - it was so dry that even breathing the damp air proved to be a difficult task. His eyes zoned in on one of the limbs. Although the rest of the body was practically destroyed, the arm seemed intact. Something about it bothered Jack, and before he knew what he was doing, his hands pulled out of the guts with a wet, splashing noise. He licked his bloody lips, breathing heavily a couple of times. The next moment he grabbed the arm, yanking it up to his mouth. The Irishman sunk his teeth into skin, growling as he tried to put more pressure on the limb._

_It was hard to draw blood from the corpse, as there was hardly any left in the veins. Nearly everything was pooled down in the stomach. But when Jack succeeded, he drank it hungrily, the metallic taste filling his mouth again. For some reason, it felt as if it was the only thing that could satisfy his thirst in the moment. After he decided he had had enough, having sucked most of the available fluid, he let the arm fall back on the floor with a rough sigh._

_A few minutes of silence passed, interrupted only with the green-haired man's breathing when he heard a creak and subsequent footsteps. The sounds were like a key to a locked part of Jack's mind - he couldn't remember it before, but now it seemed all too obvious that he wasn't alone in the room. The person approached him slowly. When they got close enough to stand behind him, he felt a hand in his hair, petting him gently._

_"Did you have fun?" they asked, and it was the same voice the Irishman had heard in the previous dream. He closed his eyes and leant to the touch; without any control over his vocal chords, he could only resort to gestures. And for some reason it made him feel even better when the person crouched beside him, their other hand now caressing his cheek._

_"You don't even know how beautiful you look right now…" they continued, murmuring into his ear. Their voice was husky and their breathing heavy, and for some reason, Jack knew that person had been pleasuring himself while watching him. "I'd just love to fuck you right here and now. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"_

_Jack's only response was a pleasured shiver that ran down his spine, warmth building up in his stomach. In the next moment, he was turned around, the person jerking him up close until their lips met. He couldn't even stop the moan that left his throat. The green-haired man finally opened his eyes when one of the stranger's hands rested on the back of his neck._

_And then he knew why that voice was so familiar. The eyes that were looking back at him were red, brighter than the blood under them, more intense than the stains on his hands. Their depth was both so terrifying and entrancing that the Irishman couldn't help but get pulled right into the dangerous fire hidden within._

* * *

Jack jolted awake, heart hammering in his chest. It wasn't hard to recognise his surroundings - he’d gotten quite familiar with the cell. The dream was absolutely vivid in his mind, and as he dared to closed his eyes, he could clearly see the red ones. He sat up quickly and wrapped his arms around his knees.

"W-what in the fuck…" he whispered, trying to get rid of the mental images. The more he thought about it, though, the more the details came back to him. The green-haired man could still feel the copper on his tongue, as well as the stickiness on his hands. And he had nearly thrown up when another slew of memories popped up in his mind. He had to cover his mouth and take a few deep breaths. "It's just a dream… Just a fucking dream…"

Even though his clothes clearly had no bloodstains, he couldn't stay calm, and his breathing became erratic. Panic twisted his stomach into impossible knots.

Jack didn't know how much time he spent on soothing his nerves - it became too easy to lose track of time in the prison with only the sounds of other inmates telling him that any had passed at all. When he could finally take a breath and hold it in without feeling the tenseness in his lungs, he closed his eyes for longer. The Irishman was still afraid of even blinking, with everything too fresh and present at the back of his head. His mind was swarmed with questions, most of them directed to the one person he was so terrified of now.

He shifted, wanting to lie down on his side, but as he did, there was a sharp twinge in his arm. It came back to him - the slam that knocked the air out of his lungs, the shout, the sound of cracking bones. He crouched over, studied his arm. Surprisingly, it was neatly wrapped up, so if any of the bones were actually broken, they were stiffened. Despite the fact that that was taken care of, his leg was still all swollen up - it ached constantly, and the green-haired man worried that it may have started to knit. He supposed it could be a way to prevent any escape- it was impossible for him to run with a limping leg. Another sting of pain only further proved that he was completely at someone's mercy.

Jack sniffled, feeling like crying. It all was so sick, and he was already losing his grip on reality - the two times he was knocked out were enough for him to lose track of time. He wondered how long he had been in the prison; it could be three days but he might as well have been locked up for over a week. A scratching noise and knocking interrupted his train of thoughts, causing the Irishman to scoot over to the wall. He guessed it was the person he had managed to befriend before.

"Hey…" Felix's voice was quiet. "You okay?"

"Define okay.” Jack had trouble speaking above a whisper. "I have a broken arm, my leg hurts like hell, everything's aching and I have nightmares that make me want to vomit."

"At least you're alive, so there's that.” Save for what he was saying, the blonde man sounded sad.

"How long have I been gone?" The green-haired man asked and cleared his throat, attempting to get his voice back.

"A day? Honestly, I have no clue. So hard to tell without any watches or clocks."

Jack nodded in response, although the other man couldn't see him. "So why did you tell me to look at my wrists?" he asked again.

"Oh, I was just wondering what number you got.” Felix seemed to light up a little with the question.

"… Number?" Jack looked at his left wrist again and frowned. The tar-coloured symbol was still there.

"Yeah. Mine's '0924'."

The Irishman swallowed nervously. "… I don't have a number," he paused to take a stuttered breath. "It's… A letter, I think?"

"W-what?" Felix's voice cracked, raising in pitch. "Oh… Oh man…"

"What does it mean?" Jack didn't like the change of tone.

"I… I don't know… But that could explain why you came back."

"I-I don't understand."

The blonde man was silent for a few minutes, ignoring any further questions that the Irishman tried to ask him. Jack only heard some whispers; among them was a ' _what is he doing to you_?’.

"Felix, please! What do you know?!"

"I'm sorry, Jack. They could all be rumours, but… when I first got here I heard the others say that the Warden was 'looking for someone', and people were disappearing every single day. But then the frequency of disappearances dropped when… when you got here."

The green-haired eyebrows shot up, the images from his dream coming back. A thought popped up in his head, and it terrified him more than anything else. _What if those aren't dreams at all? God, please, please, let me be wrong…_

"I-is this why I'm alone?" he asked, though it was hard for him to speak as the fear took over his vocal chords.

"Wait… what did you just say?" Felix's voice suddenly dropped.

"I'm alone… Here, in my cell," Jack replied, worried that this information could make things look worse. "All the others seem to have at least a couple of people with them…"

"I… I see…" the blonde man muttered, clearly thinking about something. "L-listen, I, uh… I have to go before they bash me for talking to you again."

The Irishman heard Felix quickly move away from the wall. He did know that there was something suspicious about the fact that he didn't have anyone with him. And on top of that, he'd never witnessed any other inmate be dragged out the way he was. Sure, he was unconscious most of the time, but with the ruckus his punishments alone had made, it just seemed so bizarre that he never heard anyone.

Jack had been curled up with his back against the wall and his head turned to the window, so he couldn’t see what was happening in the hallway. He was so used to the usual murmurs and other sounds from other cells, that he didn't notice how they changed and became quiet either. But what finally stopped him from zoning out was the loud slam on his cell door.

"If you think I'll fucking repeat myself just because you're ignoring me…" the Warden's voice seeped with fury as he hurriedly made his way to the green-haired man. He grabbed Jack by his collar and pulled him up so that the two were at eye level. "The next time I call you, you better hurry to the fucking door, or I'm going to kill you. So slowly.”

The Irishman couldn't hear him. The moment their gaze had met, everything was hazy. All he could focus on were those red eyes, burning with fury. And just like in the dream, they were telling him what was going to happen all over again. Foreign thoughts were beginning to cloud his mind, and it didn't even hurt when he was beaten into darkness once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has Dark really kidnapped so many people? Do the numbers mean anything? You'll never know… :) (jk you'll find out in the next work, so, for now, sit tight and enjoy the ride)  
> Again, thank you so much Rottenka for proofreading it for me <3  
> [fun fact: Felix's number were the last 3 digits of his sub count when I was writing that chapter, haha]


	4. You're breaking my bones, tearing out my hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was the eyes.  
> The eyes of a demon in the disguise of an angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is guys, the smut. ENJOY!

_It was so strange to have a body all to himself again._

_Although the red-eyed man was observing Jack patiently from the back of the room, he never told him to do anything. It all felt… as if the green-haired man wanted himself to do it. Like he had some frustration pent up and it all begged for release. And the only way to find some relief was to destroy another human being._

_This time he dove for the limbs first, his teeth itching to bite into flesh again. The body in front of him had only a cut on the neck; nearly everything was intact for the Irishman to play with. He would have never guessed just how much strength he had in his jaw, sharpened fangs sinking into the body so easily. When the skin tore under Jack’s teeth, he pulled away and watched as blood immediately flowed from the wound. His heartbeat picked up at the sight and when he licked at the crimson, he heard a low grunt of approval from behind._

_That noise was enough to spur Jack into action. Besides, whatever vile creature inhabited his body at the moment wanted desperately to see more blood. With only his bare hands to help him, he launched at the body, tearing the piece of clothing that still covered the torso. He started clawing at the skin, watching it turn a darker pink under his fingers until it started to break. The moment the rust began to pool up, he lapped it up, humming at the sweet taste._

_The green-haired man let his arms fall back, but as they did, he felt something brush against his right hand. His fingers traced the outline and clenched around a handle they found. When he lifted the item to look at it, he realised it was a knife. Perfect, sounded someone crazed from inside his head. It was exactly what he needed. He turned the blade around so that he was holding it downwards and held his left hand stiff on the body in front of him. His breathing became erratic and he started shaking, just thinking about what he was going to do._

_"What are you waiting for?" the Warden's voice revealed that he was much closer to Jack than he'd originally thought. Or maybe he’d just walked up to him, and the Irishman simply didn't notice._

_But those words were all he needed to bring the knife down. The sharp point gouged through the body like it was nothing, and Jack had no problem with pulling it out. Blood continue to stream down the chest of the corpse, but it somehow wasn't as satisfying as Jack had wanted. So he plunged his weapon into it again, and again, picking up the pace until the red liquid was splattering onto his own face. He was getting lost in the motion, at the beginning aiming for one spot but now his hand was shaking too much and his vision was blurry. It just felt too good to watch how the body ripped up, how his vision turned red. It turned him on just to think about drinking it all._

_Yet as his thoughts got clouded with raw pleasure, his hand slipped and the knife went right through his left one. Jack cried out but without proper control in his body, he just lifted his arm again and kept screaming as a wave of pain swept through his whole body. He was about to continue stabbing the corpse when something stopped him, catching his wrist in a steel grip._

_"Drop it," the tone of the voice left no room for argument, though the Irishman couldn't even think about speaking up, let alone talking back. Jack's hold on the knife loosened, and the weapon fell to the floor with a loud clank. His eyes refocused and his breathing calmed down a bit when the red-eyed man lowered his poised arm, wrapping his own around the Irishman's waist._

_"Such a pity you hurt yourself…" the Warden was now kneeling beside him, whispering into his prisoner's ear. He brushed his lips over Jack’s cheek before speaking again. "And you were getting started too, weren't you?"_

_He replied only with a whimper, his body froze in place as the other man touched it. He was still looking at the corpse, at the blood that stained it and everything around it, him included. He was still getting drawn to it, his dry throat craving crimson. That didn't slip past the Warden as he huffed in annoyance and turned Jack around in one swift motion._

_"You were too careless. You’re not getting any more of it." He took Jack's injured hand into his and brought it to his own mouth, placing a soft kiss on the wound before licking the stream of blood off it. The Irishman hissed and winced a little, the sudden attention to his injury both painful and arousing. A dark chuckle escaped from the Warden's throat as he looked at the green-haired man. "I have a better idea. You'll like it."_

_He got up, tugging at Jack's arm to make him follow. He walked to the back of the room, where the Irishman saw a simple wooden chair. The red-eyed man let go of his prisoner and sat down in it. "On your knees," he commanded, crossing his arms on his chest._

_The green-haired man gulped, quickly catching onto what was happening. He scooted over to the Warden, and the dark-haired man parted his legs to make room for him. He leant forward and caressed Jack's cheek before speaking up._

_"You're a good boy, aren't you?" a grin crept up to his face, the type of an expression the prisoner would've never suspected the man was capable of showing. "I don't have to explain what you have to do, hmm?"_

_The Irishman nodded, and for some reason, he felt that he was enjoying the situation as the other sat back. Jack reached for the red-eyed man's belt, looking up at him to see if he had permission. The Warden just kept staring at him with a sly smile on his lips._

_The green-haired man fumbled with the layers of clothing for a while, but he eventually managed to pull the other man's underwear down to take out his member. It twitched slightly when he touched it, but the expression on the Warden's face remained unchanged. Jack took a deep breath, the size of the thing quite overwhelming when he thought about putting it into his mouth. But the voice in his mind that kept making him do everything and craved for blood now was eager to begin._

_The Irishman parted his lips as he brought the cock to his mouth, his hot breath finally getting some kind of a reaction. The dark-haired man closed his eyes for a moment, waiting for Jack to start. He began by kissing the head and lapping his tongue around it. It was his first time ever tasting another man, but the situation felt so pleasant he didn't even think about it too much. After a hum of approval from the Warden, he shuddered and felt arousal build up within. Jack traced his tongue along the shaft, covering it in his saliva. Another grunt from the red-eyed man indicated that he was doing the right job. So he hummed quietly when he returned his attention to the head, and The Warden tried to hold back a moan as the vibrations passed through his body._

_After the preparations, the only thought in Jack's mind was to take it whole into his mouth, yet it was much bigger than he could handle. So he kept his focus on sucking the head while moving his hand along the rest on the length. The other man apparently had different plans as he put his hand at the back of the Irishman's head and tangled his fingers in green hair, gripping it tightly. Jack cried out in pain, though his voice was muffled with his mouth full. He quickly forgot about that as he was yanked forward, forced to deepthroat his Warden’s wet cock. The man clenched his hand, holding Jack harder with the pleasure and setting out a pace to only satisfy himself. Jack had to hold back his awful gagging reflex when the man’s dick hit the back of his throat over and over again._

_For a second, a sane thought managed to push through to the forefront of his mind, really questioning his position. It all was too bizarre to comprehend. Yet everything was numbed again quickly after in order to make room for the pleasure. He was enjoying it more than he'd ever admit, moaning around the cock in his mouth as he started rubbing his own crotch on the floor._

_The Warden either didn't notice or simply didn't care at the moment. His pants and grunts began to get louder, his hips stuttering, and he let out a throaty moan a few moments later as he came into his prisoner's mouth._

_Jack had no choice but to swallow it; the hand in his hair, although having stopped bobbing his head, still kept it in place. Yet it was a bit too much and when the black-haired man finally pulled him away and his cock slipped out of the Irishman's mouth, a string of saliva mixed with semen came dripping from his lips. Jack was panting with his tongue out like a dog. The whole experience had him short on breath, and he sucked the air in greedily. But he wasn't given much time to recover as the Warden gripped his shirt and pulled him up into his lap. The green-haired man only yelped when he had a hand forced down into his pants. The Warden grabbed his dick and started touching him roughly all while pulling upper body forward into a sloppy kiss. It was all the Irishman could do to hold on. He was completely subdued to the red-eyed man's whims._

_In the middle of it all, one thing somehow managed to strike him as…unusual? As they kissed, the Warden had his eyes open, looking directly into Jack's. The Irishman didn't want to close his own either, focusing on the crimson orbs that were full of live fire. As their tongues intertwined, something else mixed in with the sweet and salty taste. Jack held onto that new feeling, not wanting to let it go. Because although it was surely slowly going to kill him, he loved it. A part of him knew that the red-eyed man's praises and touches were all he ever needed._

* * *

The second Jack woke up, he rushed to the dirty sink in his cell, immediately emptying his stomach. Blood, half-digested food and other contents mixed with the black substance in the bowl. He coughed, the disgusting taste in his mouth only causing him to continuously dry heave. He was shaking all over, sweatdrops quickly forming on his forehead. When there was nothing else to cough up, he released his hold on the sink, slippery hands slowly retreating to his sides. The green-haired man sat down on one of his feet with the other leg stretched out.

This time he was sure it hadn't been a dream. Everything was making him reach the breaking point. He was not only terrified of the dark silhouette waiting for him in the corridor but was also starting to become scared of himself. Tears filled Jack's eyes, and once again he let himself cry. His broken sobs echoed in the empty room and the continuing isolation only fueled his sadness. The Irishman wasn't aware of the fact that it got the Warden's attention - the red-eyed man was leaning against the wall in the hallway just outside of Jack's cell, watching his prisoner's curled up form shake and struggle for breath. The green-haired man whispered to himself, unaware that someone heard him.

"I want to get out…" he sniffled, wiping his eyes. He wrapped his arms around himself, subconsciously seeking any comfort. The sound of footsteps called his attention, and he slowly raised his head to look at the corridor.

When their gazes met, Jack shuddered and squeezed his arms. Although staring into the unnatural, terrifying colour was sending cold shivers down his spine, he couldn't turn his eyes away. After a good minute of silence and unbroken eye contact, the Warden's lips twitched up, forming an expression that looked absolutely foreign on his face. The smile did not convey any emotion, yet the Irishman couldn't help but remember the same kind of expression from his dreams. And in his memories, that smile was so heavily connected to the gentle touches, sweet kisses and delicate whispers full of praises. His mind was deeply confused, something in his body telling him that, in a twisted turn of events, those eyes were the only thing that could give him the comfort he needed.

It felt like an eternity, but finally, the Warden looked away. He left Jack's field of vision, disappearing as he walked to another end of the hallway. And suddenly, all the pain and panic came back to the green-haired man and tears pricked his eyes again. He hadn't realised this before but when he was looking at the jet black-haired man, he was surprisingly calm. Sure, the feeling of dread was ever-present, but the pain had dulled to nothing. A sly, treacherous thought crawled its way into his consciousness from the back of his mind. _If the dreams are real… Then he…_ Jack swallowed, a new idea slowly forming in his head. All this time he'd been nothing but disobedient towards the red-eyed man. The thought transformed into a question, one that would linger in his mind for quite some time.

_What would happen if I just listened to him?_

* * *

It was the very first time ever since he got locked up in the prison that the Irishman stayed conscious for longer than an hour. He was pretty sure quite some time had passed since he’d woken up, although his inability to do anything was only fueling the inevitable feeling of boredom. With his own thoughts alone to occupy himself with, the time was passing painfully slow. Among the strings of memories and puzzles, he remembered Felix - Jack hadn't heard from his friend in some time. With the intention to start the conversation himself this time, the green-haired man scooted over to the wall.

For a second he hesitated, knowing that the blond man shared the cell with other people, and wondered how he would get only his attention. But then he remembered why they had started talking in the first place - others just weren't that eager to strike up a conversation. Jack sighed with what seemed to be relief and knocked on the bricks. He waited for somebody to respond, but no reply came from the other side. After a while, he made some noise again, and still, there was no response. When he gave it some thought, the Irishman remembered how Felix got his own attention. After knocking once more, he started scratching at the wall. It too seemed ineffective and Jack was about to give up when a voice came from the other side.

"Stop it."

The green-haired man immediately pulled his hands away from the wall. Not only because he got a response, but because the voice did not belong to his friend.

"Uh, can you call Felix?" he asked warily, hoping that whoever it was would know who he was talking about.

"No, I can't," the person sounded like a woman.

"Why not?" Jack bit on his bottom lip nervously.

"… He's gone."

The Irishman held his breath. _What?_

"It's your fault," there was a hint of sadness in her voice, as well as anger. "Don't talk to me again. This is what happens when you try to make friends here." She wanted to sound stern but couldn't control the way she was shaking.

"Wait, what happened?" Jack felt absolutely winded. He waited impatiently for an answer but none came back. "Please, tell me!" he cried out, but it was obvious that the woman had walked away. He was alone again - and this time with nobody to talk to.

"Oh god… What have I done…?" he whispered, hiding his face in his hands. Without even trying to justify it in any way, the green-haired man blamed himself for the fate of someone who was nearly a stranger caught up in the same unfortunate circumstances. Although the feeling was crushing his heart, he didn't cry this time. A part of him wanted any sort of solace in the hopeless situation and he wished he could just fall asleep and never wake up again. _At least it wouldn't hurt so much._

The next sound that pulled him out of the abyss of his own thoughts was the clacking noise of an opening lock. Jack didn't want to look up, but the commanding, harsh tone made him.

"Get up."

The question he'd locked away resurfaced the moment he heard that voice.

The Warden was standing in front of him with an expressionless face. His eyes lit up expectantly, waiting for the prisoner's reaction. The Irishman used his hands to support himself on the wall while getting up, not taking his eyes off the black-haired man. As they stared at each other again, Jack's mind was going blank, with only one task going through it. _Listen to him._

"You're coming with me," the Warden said, a hint of pride in his voice. Maybe the green-haired man was imagining it, but he wanted to think that it was purely because he actually did what he was told. So when the red-eyed man turned around to walk out of the cell, he followed shortly after.

Yet Jack's legs, slowly getting unfamiliar with the act of walking, cramped horribly and caused him to trip. With a mere yelp, he fell forward. His hands, automatically seeking some kind of support, grabbed at the first thing they could. His face landed on the soft fabric of the Warden's shirt, his fingers clutching the red-eyed man's arms.

It took the Irishman a moment to realise what had happened and when it hit him, he immediately let go, not caring about the fact that he would fall on the cold floor. However, this time something else stopped him; the arms he'd been holding just a second ago were now gripping tight at his. Jack dared to look up at the other man's face and cowered in fear when he saw the eyes burn passionately with fury.

"And here I thought we had some progress…" the tone of his voice would sound casual, yet clipped, to anyone else, but for the green-haired man, it was enough to make his stomach flip from anxiety. The Warden stared at him, squinting his eyes as if trying to hide the fire within just a bit.

Jack desperately wanted to look away; just the gaze alone was too much to handle for him. Yet there was this stubborn part of him that refused to listen to reason, mesmerized by the crimson orbs that burned with feelings the Irishman could never understand.

The black-haired man leant in, his face inches away from Jack’s, and the prisoner’s heart was thumping harder than it should have, causing an ache in his chest. It almost became the only thing the green-haired man could hear, everything else fading away beside the ringing in his ears. And all the emotions gave way for the most primal instinct of all - for the very first time in his life, Jack felt pure fear. The only thought that his mind could form repeated itself like a mantra.

_I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die…_

The Warden said nothing as he carefully observed the whirlwind of emotions in the Irishman’s eyes, like a cat that would watch a mouse try to struggle out of its reach. When the feelings finally merged into one, he let go of Jack’s arms, though he only moved his hands to the Irishman’s waist to keep him from falling down.

“You really do make me consider killing you right here and now.”

Jack’s paralysed body didn’t let him move or speak, but the slightest changes in his eyes reflecting his thoughts were enough for the red-eyed man. He sighed, although the sigh sounded all wrong, and continued, reaching for the green-haired man’s face.

“I keep sparing you, yet you never seem to learn.”

Jack’s lips twitched as if trying to say something, to defend himself. The Warden was caressing his cheek.

“Will you ever listen to me, or will I have to break every single bone in your fragile body for you to understand?”

When he went silent after the question, the Irishman realised he was waiting for an actual answer this time. Yet no words wanted to leave Jack’s mouth, everything getting stuck in his throat. His eyes were the only way left of communicating, and although they were stinging and dry, there were still some tears left that glistened in the corners.

“You don’t want to die, do you?” the Warden murmured, now stopping the gentle gesture as he moved his hand down to the prisoner’s neck. He paused, waiting to see if Jack wanted to say something. When he was sure those terrified eyes wouldn’t change, he brought his other hand to his prisoner’s neck as well and tightened his hold on the Irishman’s throat.

“Be good and go to sleep already.”

Jack had no time to do anything before he was thrown against the wall with inhuman force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is my favourite, just gonna say it right now. This is the child of my whole research on the Stockholm syndrome, cause I love to read about this stuff. Also, when I first put the "Dark is a psychopathic fuck" tag in here I wasn't thinking about making him an actual psychopath. I took some notes though and now I can confirm that yes, he **is** a psychopathic fuck. So keep that in mind heheheh...  
>  The next chapter's gonna be last, so ~~amuse me with your silly guesses~~ place your bets on what's going to happen!


	5. Yet I love being with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't love  
> It was an obsession.  
> But things like that don't matter to a person without a heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: **RAPE. YES, STRAIGHT UP RAPE.** I am not going to defend Dark here, I've made him into a twisted character that does not care about anyone but himself.  
>  And I would like to just say that:  
> This is a work of fiction and while the characters in it aren't fictional, the whole story is. With that said, I would like to emphasise that I do not support any of those actions described here. Rape, emotional manipulation, taking advantage of someone weaker - those all are serious offences and they are terribly wrong. As I wrote it from the victim's point of view I made it clear that this is straight up abuse, without any consent whatsoever. It doesn't even feel right to call this a "relationship", just… no. It's forced and toxic, purely written for the enjoyment of reading. (Does that make sense? I hope it does.)  
> Now that the disclaimers and warnings are out of the way, please proceed to the last chapter only if you feel up to reading it. I'm saying that because I don't want to get bashed by someone in the comments for not giving out proper warnings.

_"Time for you to have some fun."_

_Jack's eyes fluttered open just to find himself in the Warden's arms. The black-haired man was cupping his cheek, staring at his face. The gentle touch felt so comforting that the Irishman gladly leant into it, slowly breathing in and out. Just like in all of his dreams, there was some kind of mental blockade that stopped him from thinking rationally. It didn't even cross his mind that the kind gesture and expression on the red-eyed man's face was probably a facade, one that he should escape from that instant._

_"I hope you like the surprise," the Warden continued, turning Jack around and motioning to the bound figure slumped against the wall. The green-haired man's heart picked up the pace as he warily observed the third person in the room._

_Jack couldn't shake the feeling that he'd seen him before. His wild cerulean eyes seemed to be very familiar, especially with the way that they stared at him, full of dread. His blond hair was even dirtier and more faded than the Irishman had remembered, now stained with blood. The man's face was red from all the tears he’d spilt. And although he looked exhausted, he still tried to scream. Yet his makeshift rope gag prevented him from making any noises besides muffled whimpers._

_"Do you recognise your **friend**?" the Warden rested his chin on Jack's shoulder. "I figured he would make things interesting." _

_The green-haired man couldn't remember his name. The man’s face was so familiar, but something was still missing. The key to Jack’s memories was just out of his reach. He curled his fists, though the crimson-eyed man still managed to sneak his hand into one of Jack's, intertwining their fingers together._

_"Kill him for me," he murmured into the Irishman's ear, and Jack held his breath. He felt a slight squeeze in his hand before the other man let him go and stepped aside. His watchful eyes never left his prisoner._

_Jack slowly staggered towards the man sitting by the wall. The blond tried to scoot away, but the room wasn't big enough to give him any means of escape and he only got stuck in a corner. The Irishman licked his parched lips, throat way too dry for his liking. He was_ **_thirsty_** _. As he kneeled in front of the tied up man, a curious thought popped up in his head. He tugged the gag down, allowing his soon-to-be victim to speak._

_"J-Jack, p-p-please!" the blond man's voice was cracked and desperate, half of his words silent as they got stuck in his throat. "I-It's me, Fe-Felix! Help--”_

_The green-haired man's pupils rapidly dilated and his lips curled into a bloodthirsty grin. He launched at the other man's neck, biting hard down into it. Felix screamed in shock and pain, trying to shake him off, but Jack straddled him with his hips. He hooked his fingers into the blonde man's shoulders and let them sink into pale flesh as he sucked the blood from the fresh wound._

_"I-I'm your friend! Jack!" Felix kept yelling as much as he could. Kept jerking about. "Don't do this! Don't listen to him!"_

_The Irishman growled at the mention of the Warden. His fingers dug deeper into Felix’s flesh like claws, puncturing the skin under his nails. The other prisoner's shrieking only stirred the fury building within him. The taste of the crimson fluid on his tongue, as well of the feeling of it on his fingers,_ _made his mind go hazy. Listening to the Warden with eyes of that same colour felt like the only right thing to do. Nothing else mattered._

 _At that point, Jack knew that he didn't have any friends, He didn't want them. He only needed_ **_him._ **

* * *

The green-haired man didn't even want to move when he woke up. He lay down with his cheek pressed against the cold floor, staring blankly at the metal bars of his cell. Behind them, the freedom he wanted so bad was awaiting him. It was just outside the window. Jack meekly reached out, his arm trembling and fingers outstretched, but it was all too far away. Too surreal. His hand fell down with a soft thud, and he closed his eyes again.

Jack knew that something was missing, a feeling of emptiness gnawing at his heart. And the weirdest thing was that it wasn't because he had killed someone. Or that he’d lost a friend. The reason was much, much stranger. Feelings of terror and longing clashed in his mind, and Jack didn't know what to do anymore. He gritted his teeth in frustration, grasping the roots of his hair and pulling.

Eventually, the Irishman let out a rough sigh and let go. He would have to accept the reality of his situation, of his dreams, whether he liked them or not. Tears welled up in his eyes and rolled down his face. When he opened them again his vision was blurry, but that didn't stop him from finally noticing something rather peculiar.

The cell door was hanging open, and it was the most inviting thing the Irishman had ever seen in this place, maybe in his life. With nobody in sight, he slowly crawled to it, dragging his broken leg on the grimy floor. His stomach twisted in worry; he was afraid that the moment he’d try to touch the door it would disappear and turn out to be some mirage. So when his hand set down on the cold bars, he nearly jumped back in surprise. For the very first time, it was something unquestionably real. Something good in his miserable life.

His fingers wrapped around one of the bars, and he let out a shaky breath. It was _too_ good to be true. **_He_ ** _is probably waiting just around the corner to get me the moment I try to step out_ , the green-haired man thought. He shuddered; it seemed quite plausible--the man that had trapped him here was a sadistic psychopath that loved violence. Jack was so worried about this ambush he'd made up in his mind that he forgot about his injured leg and stood. Within the first step, he had put too much pressure on it, and the sudden jolt of pain that ran through him was enough to make him scream. He fell over, his grip on the door too hard, and swung to the side, bashing his head against the metal bars.

Another pained cry left his throat and more tears formed in his eyes. They were no longer from pain, but from fear that he'd get caught any moment. He curled up, hiding his aching head in his arms. _That was the last chance I had to get out of this goddamn hellhole,_ the green-haired man thought angrily while a bruise began to form on his forehead.

He lay like that for a couple of minutes, but nothing happened. No footsteps, no shouts, no forceful grips or furious eyes staring at him. It was weird, Jack thought. For the very first time, the Warden wasn't in the corridor. The Irishman couldn't believe it; it was just too perfect. The cell door was open and there was nobody to catch him. He could escape now and no one would notice. He opened his eyes and relaxed his arms, staring at the ceiling. It seemed impossible, but at the same time, something was telling him to seize the opportunity. Finally, he sat up, the pain in his head letting up.

 _I can't rush it…_ the green-haired man looked at his swollen leg, knowing he could barely move it. _But I have to do it quickly. He’s going to come back sooner or later!_

Jack grabbed the bars again, pulling himself up. This time he focused on standing on only one leg, keeping balance by leaning against the cell bars. He looked out to the hallway. The thought of the Warden waiting to pounce just by his cell still lingered at the back of his head. Even when he saw the clear coast with his own eyes, he couldn't stop a shiver of dread.

The corridor looked even more terrifying when it was empty, and he was painfully aware that the Warden was not his only worry. The Irishman was so familiar with the sounds coming from the other cells, and knowing that his own was open, a thought of other prisoners also being able to escape popped up in his mind. Not everyone here was like Felix, most of them didn't want to talk or even stared at him with spite. _Just do it. Don't look at them, don't get their attention…_

Once Jack was halfway down the hall, he felt a rush of cold air on his back. He never noticed it before, but it seemed to blow from the room on the left at the very end of the hallway to the door on the right. There was no big red sign saying "EXIT" or any green arrow pointing at it, but he just knew that it would lead to his freedom. He leant against the bare wall, taking slow steps towards it. The closer the green-haired man got to the door, the less he heard the surrounding prisoners, and the less guilty he felt for leaving them behind.

Yet somehow, with each step, something stirred within him. An uneasy feeling had risen in his stomach and he couldn't tell where it was coming from. Finally, he got close enough to reach for the handle, his hand resting on it. Before he pulled it, he took a few nervous deep breaths. Jack turned around one last time, checking if the corridor was still empty. And again, nobody was there to stop him. A coldness sunk into the Irishman when he realized that he had hoped, just for a moment, that the red-eyed man would actually be there. The emptiness behind him terrified him irrationally.

 _I… I want out_ … it was hard to hold onto that thought, his tensed palms beginning to get sweaty. The Irishman tightened his grip and with a shaky exhale he opened the door.

It revealed a flight of steep stairs leading up. Somewhere on top of it was another door, sunlight seeping out through the cracks in it. Jack started climbing towards it, though the stairs proved to be a hard obstacle to overcome with a broken leg. There were no railings, so when he slipped, he fell and rolled backwards. A hurt moan left his throat and he had to wait a long time for the pain to stop.

He still couldn't believe that nobody was paying attention to him.   _Maybe it's just a dream, and I'm still in the cell, unconscious from being beaten up._ More tears appeared in the corners of his eyes and he tried to rub them. They stung and the cold air only dried them. The green-haired man felt like crying at the helplessness of the situation, thinking he was pathetic for ever considering there would be a way out. But the stairs were still there, leading into the unknown.

He gave it another try, getting up. This time he kept both of his hands on the opposite walls, taking slow, careful steps to watch his injured leg. He managed to climb half the way up when he felt that strange sense of longing come back. Anxiety moved through his body like a scrambling insect.

"… W…what am I doing?" Jack whispered, voice shaky. Again, his head whipped around to look behind. Still, nobody was there. He was free to do whatever he wanted. He needed to take another step.

But instead of a step forward, it was back. "I can't…" he mumbled, the whole body shaking. "I can't leave…"

And soon he was backtracking, mind going crazy and numb at the same time. As wild thoughts swam through his head, his hands got more and more sweaty. He barely registered his second fall over all the mental noise, and barely managed to cover his face. When he landed at the base of the staircase, he didn't move for several minutes and certainly didn't hear the footsteps behind him.

Jack forgot about checking the hallway, so when he lifted himself up, muttering in pain, he had no idea that somebody was watching him. He only closed the door, leaning against it, erratic and uneven breaths escaping his lips. When he pressed his forehead against the rusty, cold metal, the pain in the fresh bruise acted up. He hissed, shutting his eyes.

"What am I… I can't… I can't…" he kept mumbling to himself, wrapping one arm around his stomach. His own thoughts were all over the place, some screaming at him for not escaping, some scolding him for ever trying. After a moment of staying still, the green-haired man stood up again, thinking of returning to his cell. He shuffled his legs, but the injured one was too abused after him falling down the stairs twice and he tripped backwards.

Yet instead of his body meeting the floor again, he landed on something soft. All of his thoughts suddenly halted, trying to comprehend what was happening. Strong hands gripped Jack's sides, and he was pulled so that his back was pressed against their chest. A couple of seconds passed before they spoke into his ear, but Jack knew exactly what it would sound like.

"What do you think you're doing?"

The voice wasn't even angry, the tone calm and collected, yet the Irishman's heartbeat sped up dangerously, his stomach sinking. These simple words were enough to make him break down instantly. Broken sobs escaped his throat, tears rolling down his cheeks in streams. The man behind him remained stoic, waiting for an answer. He watched Jack's shoulders move up and down as he kept crying.

Jack's mind was going haywire again; he couldn't form any coherent thoughts. Through the sobs, he tried to form a sentence, though his broken apologies were mostly incomprehensible. He didn't even know whether he was apologising or justifying himself to the man holding him.

"I… I was trying to…" the green-haired man started when he finally had the control over his voice but the loud sniffles kept interrupting his words.

The Warden still waited patiently, his grip unmoving from Jack's hips. The Irishman was taking shallow breaths, never having enough air in lungs. He was trembling like a child that had been caught doing something wrong. In a way, it was exactly that, the fear of punishment dense in the air. Had he not been held by the red-eyed man, he wouldn't have been able to stand, all of his strength leaving his body.

"Trying to do _what_?" a hint of annoyance appeared in the Warden's voice, indicating that he was losing his patience. Over time Jack had learnt that the man had an impossibly short temper, so he really had to stutter out an answer quickly.

"… R-run a-a-away…" he shut his eyes tight, waiting for the blow. He was sure that he'd get hit or thrown to the ground and beaten up.

Yet instead, the black-haired man only asked another question, though the rising anger was easily heard in his tone.

"Why didn't you do it, then?"

Jack's heart stopped.

"I… I co-couldn't…"

And another question.

"What stopped you?"

_Why couldn't I? There was nobody to… No… He… He would've caught me… But he wasn't there… Why… Why?!_

The green-haired man's mouth moved on its own before he could make sense of his scrambled thoughts.

"I just… can't… leave…"

Then what he had anticipated finally came; his back was slammed against the wall, but instead of getting punched afterwards, he felt one hand tug his hair, making him open his eyes. The Warden leant in and their mouths met for a brief moment before he bit down on Jack's bottom lip.

"Of course you can't," he murmured as he pulled away, resting his forehead on his prisoner's. "You're mine."

Their lips clashed again and the red-eyed man was drawing out gasps from Jack with his rough kisses. The green-haired man found himself completely allowing him, parting his mouth wide. He was picked up like he weighed nothing shortly after and led towards the room at the very end of the hallway.

When they both entered it, the Warden slammed the door behind him, stealing air from Jack once again with his hungry kisses. He moved one of his hands to the Irishman's crotch to fondle his growing erection, earning a moan from his prisoner. He pulled away and chuckled.

"You whiny little bitch," he put both of his hands on Jack's throat, eyes suddenly flashing dangerously. "Who's in charge here?"

"Y-you," the younger managed, coughing.

"And who gives the orders?" the Warden pressed forward, squeezing Jack's neck.

"Y-y-you!" the Irishman felt a new wave of panic sweep through him.

The dark-haired man smiled proudly, and grabbed Jack by his hair, jerking him towards the desk. Unlike the other room the green-haired man had always seen in his dreams, this one looked nice. The furniture dictated office - the desk had a comfy chair in front of it, the surface of it littered with papers and some tools. There was even a carpet on the floor, and the light from the lamp was a normal shade of white, illuminating the whole room.

Jack couldn't pay attention to all of that, though, as the Warden kicked the chair so that it was in the middle of the room, and sat down on it, Jack forced down to his lap.

"Don't think this is a reward," he snarled, watching the green-haired man's eyes blow wide with lust and fear. "You tried to escape. And I don't like when my things disobey me," he yanked Jack's shirt so hard that the fabric tore under his fingers and bit down on the smaller man's shoulder without warning. The Irishman yelped out in pain, but the moment was brief; the red-eyed man was unzipping the prisoner's pants, and he had quickly gone back to touching the Irishman’s aching cock.

Jack didn't want to moan, but he simply wasn't strong enough. Nonetheless, what left his throat was more of a whimper. He'd stopped crying briefly, but now the tears were back to stinging his eyes. Close to the hand on his dick, he also felt the Warden's own erection grow. The black-haired man grunted and pulled away to look into Jack's eyes.

"Strip. Right now.” his voice had a certain hoarseness and hostility that Jack had never heard before. He backed off of his Warden quickly and shimmed out of his pants, for a second hesitating on the shirt. Seeing as it was ripped already, he guessed he had nothing to lose. It was exactly what the Warden wanted, though his furious gaze never left Jack, never faded. The Irishman sat back in his lap, and the moment he did, he had two fingers shoved down his throat.

"Suck them," with each passing second it felt like the red-eyed man grew more and more irritated. Jack didn't dare to disobey, so he did his best to cover the digits in his mouth with saliva. It was obvious what was going to happen next, and he shivered at the thought. He realised he didn't want it - in fact, he felt that sex was the last thing he could possibly want here. But fear drove him to impossible ends, and he didn't want to find out what would happen if he refused. Plus something at the back of his head whispered that if he just let it all happen and stopped overthinking everything, he'd enjoy it. His painfully hard groin proof was proof enough.

The abrupt absence in his mouth pulled him out of his thoughts, but his mind went blank right as he felt both of the fingers be shove themselves inside him. Without even a word of a warning, the Warden started to finger him, not caring at all about Jack's screams. The unnatural stretch on his hole stung so much, and the Irishman kept shouting in pain. He was about to push himself off, to run away, when one of his arms got caught by the red-eyed man's unoccupied hand.

"Stay," was all he said, the fingers around Jack's arm squeezing like a deadly python. The green-haired man could not only feel his circulation get cut off, but it was as if his arm had been put in some press, his bones ready to crack any second. Jack screamed and begged, frantic and sobbing, and yet the Warden was deaf to it all, only letting Jack's arm go when he felt that he was too weak to even struggle. The least the Irishman could do for himself was to hold onto the man under him, burrowing his face in his shoulder to at least muffle his noise. But the pain only continued as the Warden scissored him open.

Jack's wails would soon turn into sobs interrupted by moans, as the Warden pushed his fingers even further inside, curling them up to brush against the green-haired man's prostate. Waves of pleasure erupted within his body, and the Irishman desperately wanted to hide as his shameless mewls got louder and louder. The red-eyed man was also grunting, his patience wearing thin as he roughly pulled out his fingers. Jack whined slightly at the loss, the stinging in his assaulted hole letting up slightly. It lasted mere seconds before the green-haired man was lifted up and then pushed down onto the Warden.

An agonized shriek ripped out of his throat once again, body not ready for such penetration in any way. The last thing he expected in the moment was to hear a chuckle, yet there it was, dark and ominous.

"My, my… Aren't you loud…" the black-haired man's hot breath teasing Jack's ear. "I can tell you're still holding back. Be louder for me."

And with that, his fingers clawed at the Irishman's hips, and he picked up a pace that left Jack a complete mess, panting and crying and moaning. It was too hard to fight back with harsh reality, Jack’s body and mind betraying him for the sake of raw pleasure. The green-haired man had to give up. The red-eyed monster had everything - owned his body, occupied his mind. Jack didn't even want to think about it. The broken remains of reason screamed within, begging to be heard.

And all he could do was listen through his own incoherent strings of pleas and mewls as he felt the cock inside him brush against that special spot over and over again. The white hot pleasure built up in him too quickly and when it was all too much, he still managed to scream through his sore vocal chords as he came. His mind went completely off for a moment, but then his attention was brought back instantly to the situation when the hands of his hips stopped moving him and the fingers scratched his flesh like claws.

"I don't remember telling you to come," the Warden gritted his teeth, and for a second the lust in his eyes got replaced completely by the underlying fury.

Jack had never felt a post-orgasmic high go away so quickly, the sudden burst of anxiety in the pit of his stomach shoving everything aside. He was panting heavily, unable to get any words together, though he wanted to defend himself somehow. Yet nothing could help him as the Warden pulled out and forced him to stand up, strong arms handling him like a weightless doll. The next moment he was shoved against the wall, face held down with one hand.

"My little whore didn't know how to take his punishment?" the Warden snarled into the Irishman's ear, voice dripping with spite. He quickly shoved his member back into Jack, earning another pained cry from him. "I made it too pleasurable for you, did I?"

The green-haired man couldn't say anything, couldn't even protest when the hot, muscular body was pressed against his, trapping him between it and the wall. The thrusts were back to the agonising speed, and at this point, Jack reserved to whimpers and crying. But the red-eyed man wouldn't have any of that, and he wrapped his hand around the Irishman's limp cock.

"Don't think you can just be quiet now. If you're not going to scream for me anymore, I'll make you," despite slowly approaching his own orgasm, he still managed to keep the commanding tone. "And don't think about coming before I tell you to."

Jack had more screams ripped out of him, the overstimulation making him go crazy. As the hand first started slowly moving up and down, he shook and cried from the pain. Then, as fingers traced the veins on his swollen cock, that was enough to make him give in completely - it soon started twitching, and blood rushed back into it. When the Warden pressed his thumb on the slit, Jack was back to moaning, his member hard again.

It was much tougher to keep it in, his insides now used to the aches and cruel pace. Fortunately for him, the red-eyed man's grunts got louder, and soon the Irishman felt a wet hotness fill him up. The hold on his cock tightened and the Warden growled into his ear. "Come."

With the second orgasm, Jack's whole body went limp, and the Warden had to hold him up. He felt himself being carried and when the red-eyed man sat down, the Irishman was back in his lap, this time held in an embrace.

Jack’s eyes wandered in the room, and when they set on one wall in particular, his eyes went wider than ever before. There was something written on it - but not just anything. One word, over and over. A name.

**jack jack jack**

**jAck jAck jAck**

**J∀CK J∀CK J∀CK**

_He… he knows my name…_ he stared at it dumbfounded, watching as the writing for messier with each word. Even the rest of the letters were smudged, save for the “A”s.

Something snapped in Jack's mind in that moment. He clutched the hot body surrounding him like his life depended on it, his own small frame shaking uncontrollably. He was scared, so scared of the monster that was holding him, but it was also the only person in this wretched place that gave him comfort. His heart was close to jumping out of his chest, and tears once again flowed from his tired eyes. Once the floodgates were open, he couldn't stop.

The green-haired man was telling himself that he didn't love the monster, he couldn't, because the bruises all over his body were screaming their stories, warning him that he'd been abused. But Jack only held the red-eyed man tighter, staining his shirt with tears. His heart ached in a way he'd never felt before and it was terrifying him.

The Warden's rough hand found its way to the prisoner's hair, and surprisingly, he only stroked the unkempt strands, pulling him closer in what may have been a poor attempt at comfort. But Jack knew better than that; soon the feeling would be gone and he'd have to fight for his life again. It was as if his mind was on autopilot, already predicting everything based on the memories that weren't even real.

When the red-eyed man spoke up, the Irishman winced, burrowing his face even deeper in the dark fabric. The Warden's voice sounded casual, maybe even soothing, but Jack's mind couldn't help but connect it to previous experiences, and it was like poison to his ears.

"I honestly can't tell what to do with you right now... I think I've had enough, but at the same time, I can't let you just go, you know?" whenever he spoke huskily the green-haired man felt a shiver run down his spine. But he was shaking like a leaf in the wind already, so the other didn't even feel the difference and continued. "They're onto me already."

Jack was too nervous to ask. He was never given the permission to, anyway, all of his previous experiences ending up with him being beaten up. So he kept quiet, fingers scraping against a black shirt, hoping the calm, quiet moment would last forever.

The Irishman heard the Warden sigh, and the man holding him got up without letting his prisoner go. He carried him all the way back to his cell, holding him bridal style. Jack's arms were wrapped around his neck, so his face was still burrowed in the red-eyed man's chest.

The green-haired man was half-asleep by the time they got to the cell, so as he was set down, his drifting-off mind barely registered a hand petting his head and the deep voice talking to him.

"There's going to be a surprise. You'll wait patiently, won't you?"

* * *

Jack had no dreams afterwards. It felt so weird. He was forced to spend an eternity in the darkness, without any sound, not even ringing in his ears. It was neither soothing nor uncomfortable, just…unexpected. Perhaps he got used to the dreams overtime, but he couldn't tell if he was missing them. Time passed, and finally, the world was remembered.

The Irishman woke up in the same surroundings as always. A part of him felt relieved it didn't change. But another part told him that something was wrong. And then he knew it - he was alone.

He didn't have to listen to the voices of the other prisoners; they didn't matter to him. It was the lack of someone else that gnawed at his heart. Jack didn't approach the bars, he didn't have to. He _knew_.

The Warden was gone. Actually gone.

After a few days, Jack heard something familiar, yet strange. Heavy footsteps rang in the hallway, but he didn't bother to look. The new sounds failed to get his attention. They couldn't make him move from the position he'd been hunched in for who knows how long.

_Because he had been waiting._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> … And that will be all for now. Please do subscribe to the "Prison!AU" series if you enjoyed reading this work and are curious how is the story going to unfold.  
> You're free to guess what happened by the end. It's going to be revealed in the next part, and the first person to guess correctly will get… a cookie! (yeah, just probably an honorable mention)
> 
> All of the chapter titles come from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CxQeXltiI0o), I just translated the lyrics. Feel free to give it a listen anyway!  
> Comments and kudos are much, much appreciated :)


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